


No Net To Break My Fall

by aintnodancer



Category: Hogan's Heroes
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Governments Being Dicks, M/M, Rusty Author, Slow Build, mentions of mpreg, questionable history
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2018-10-11 10:13:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 21,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10462503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aintnodancer/pseuds/aintnodancer
Summary: Ten years after the end of the war, Newkirk is trying to live day to day, support his sons, and keep his head down; if only that bloody annoying Yank would leave him alone and let him do that.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fanfic I've written in years, and my main focus has changed from my high school days of anime and video games on fanfiction.net, you can still find it all over there though, which is probably embarrassing.
> 
> So excuse my sloppy writing, I'm trying to practice and get better, but I've had this story in my head for a while and I wanted to share.
> 
> So enjoy.

Peter would like to say that he was fast asleep at this time in the morning, most civilians were unless they had bread to bake, or fish to catch, but many years of getting up before the sun as a prisoner of war had instilled a lot of habits into him; he saved and relit old cigarettes until they were unsmokable, shouting made him stand at attention no matter who was making the noise, cars backfiring had him ducking for cover, and pretty birds on the street were for looking and not touching, the pretty ones were always a spy.

He shivered in the cold of his drafty flat, the curtain floated in the breeze from the window that could never quite be closed completely; usually he tried to block it up a bit, but he was still sweating from dreams of the past, of fire and explosions at his back, of dead men looking him in the eyes as he escaped yet again, nothing was more important than the mission, and heaven help those who stood between him and his goal.

The kettle whistled on the stove, bringing him back to the present. He cursed quietly and grabbed it with a tea towel in his hand; he knew the noise would wake his boys, and he wanted to let them sleep a bit longer, it was the weekend after all. 

He had settled down with a cuppa and the morning paper when his eldest shuffled out of his room he shared with his brother, rubbing his eye with his fist. John, Johnny, grunts at his Da as he makes his way to the kettle to make his own cup, not quite awake enough yet to make breakfast. He slumps opposite Peter at their dining table, hands curling around his mug as he shivers from the cold; he knows not to complain about the draft, 10 years is a long time to learn about wartime nightmares and the unfairness of a dishonourable discharge. At 20 he is tall, just as tall as his Da, his shoulders are wide but the rest of his body hasn’t caught up yet, a few more years of working as a builder should fix that soon enough though. To Peter he is the spitting image of his other father, a childhood friend from money who enjoyed a bit of rough between his high maintenance girls, all curly hair with green eyes that made the girls faint as he passed; although maybe he’s not like that anymore, they hadn’t seen each other in 20 years, not since Peter told him he was pregnant, not since he was told to provide proof that it was his, not since he was given 50£ to disappear forever.

But that was forever and a war ago, it was hard to get too nostalgic about his estranged friend, and a petty little part of him kind of hopes that the other man is unattractive now, or single without any hope of finding a wife.

Johnny reached across the table to grab the paper from his limp hands, knowing the far away look in his Da’s eyes meant that he probably wouldn’t notice its absence, and he was right.

“Davie is gonna get up soon, maybe start some beans for him? You know ‘e won’t eat breakfast otherwise”.

Peter, snapping out of his daze once again, nodded at his eldest and moved to the kitchen to cook for his youngest. “I was ‘oping ‘e might sleep in a bit today. ‘E’s been working hard at school, but even geniuses need sleep.”

Johnny shook his head, “The boys down the street are having competition to build the best boat and see how far it goes. ‘E wants to win, I’m surprised he got any sleep last night, wouldn’t shut up about it.”

Peter ‘hmmed’ as he watched the pot full of beans slowly heat, “Well I gotta get to the shop soon, you around for dinner or going to Elizabeth’s?”

Johnny’s cheeks heated, and his reply was hidden behind the paper as he flicked it up. Peter laughed and placed the last two pieces of bread on two plates, both slightly stale having been bought yesterday, but the heat from the beans would soften them a little. Sloping most of it on the two plates, he carried them to the table just in time to see his youngest, David, come out of their room fully dressed. The young brunette with dark eyes opened his mouth to say goodbye, but the smell of a cooked breakfast made his stomach growl, and he sat himself down in front of the second plate.

Nodding in satisfaction, Peter turned to what was left in the pot, scooping it out with a spoon and eating it quickly, trying to ignore the burn, grabbing his cold tea from the table and downing that as well, he put both in the sink to wash later and turned to his sons.

“Be good, I don’t wanna hear that you went into Elizabeth’s room, or that you broke your mate’s boats so you could win, alright?” He looked at both sternly, he knew both well enough that these were just a few of many possible reasons they’d get into trouble today, but he couldn’t drag them around by the ear all day; he just had to hope that they had more sense than he did at their age, although he was reasonably sure that there wasn’t a circus to run off and join at this time of year. 

He grabbed his old RAF winter coat, much thinner than it used to be, but still the best he had, wrapped the scarf that Mavis knitted him a few Christmas’ ago around his neck, gave both his boys a kiss on the forehead before heading out the door to start his day.

The cold air stung at his face as he left his building, and he took a moment to pull his scarf tighter around his neck, before setting off down the street. He had a few shillings in his pocket, but he couldn’t bring himself to waste it on taking a bus, especially when he knew something else would come up soon enough as a new expense; work was only a few city blocks away anyway, and his night job was even closer at a nearby pub. He was pretty lucky to live close enough to not waste money on getting there.

Head down, Peter made his way through the small amount of people on the street at this time of morning, most of the queuing to get their daily bread, but some were on their way to their jobs, just like he was. He recognised a few of the voices around him, but didn’t stop to chat, and neither did anyone who recognised him call out; it felt like he was a different person to who he was in the POW camp, and he was a lifetime away from who he was before the war. He was never really one for silence in the camp, the silence gave him time to think, too much time, so he had to fill it, even if it was just to be obnoxious. In this new life he has made after the war, he was happier to be friendless, his sons were all the company he needed; no matter how sad that sounded, he was a better father in the end for it.

The grey colds opened at this point and a light drizzle fell, not unusual for London at anytime during the year, so Peter did nothing but pick up his pace.

Almost at the shop, he bumped shoulders with someone, another man by the force of the impact, hardly for the first time today in his walk, so he muttered a “sorry gov,” and kept his hands firmly in his pockets, always wary about other people using this for the classic pick pocketing ploy.

“No problem at all, fella,” an American answered back, and Peter picked up his pace again to get away, not looking at the Yank. “Hey is that a- hey wait!” The other man spluttered in response.

The shop was in sight now, all he had to do was get around the back to get in and he could lock the door against the world, and the memories. He could hear the man walking after him, calling to him; he’d met a lot of Americans in his time in the war, but this voice was not familiar to him, and just because a special few of them had become as close as family to him, it does not mean he doesn’t remember others who were nothing but trouble.

He didn’t make it more than a few more steps before his arm was grabbed and he was spun to face him. An unfamiliar face stared back at him, light brown eyes and a pointed nose, with a cap hiding most of his orange hair. He was military, that was obvious from the way he held himself, and the American military barracks weren’t that far from here, so it was an easy conclusion to jump to.

The man looked at him for a second, “hey now fella, walking off when I was about to ask you a question is a bit rude…”

Peter yanked his arm out of the grip with more force that was probably needed. “Rude like grabbing me arm when I’m trying to get ta work?” He replied snidely.

The man nodded, “you’re right sir, you are right. But I do have a question for you, it won’t take a second.”

Peter looked behind him for an escape, but he knew it would be quicker and easier to just tolerate him for the moment. “Come on then,” he sighed and crossed his arms.  
The man smiled a perfect Californian smile at him and straightened up, “I was just gonna ask about you ‘bout you coat there.”

Peter looked down at himself, his coat was no longer the deep blue it once was, and it was worn thin at the elbows with very obvious stitching at the shoulder seam after it got caught in a door. It was old, but it was still very obviously RAF, and any military who served in the war could probably recognise it a mile away. It was the last surviving part of his uniform, he had worn the other pieces out within a few years of being home, but they’d kept the cold out better than most civilian clothes. 

“What about it?”

“Well, it’s military isn’t it? RAF? I served with a few of you guys late in the war, I just wanna know if you were one of them.” 

Peter shook his head immediately, “no mate, I didn’t do no flying at the end of the war.” Thinking the conversation over, he started walking away again.

But the man followed him, “Really? Then maybe we celebrated together after it was over. I have to say, you are very familiar.”

“That also wasn’t me. No time to celebrate, I had to look after me family.”

The man persisted, “I understand that, you Brits got hit hard didn’t you?” He looked sad for a moment, “say, what’s your name guy?”

This made Peter eye him, “why’d you wanna know?” He asked suspiciously.

“What’s wrong with swapping a few stories over a beer?” He asked innocently.

“It’s eight in the morning mate, for one thing. And some of us have work now for another.”

“After work then,” the man grinned, “You work here?” He gestured to the tailoring shop that they unconsciously stopped walking at. Peter nodded, and the man continued, “My name’s George, I’m come around later and you can show me your favourite bar, or ‘pub’, or whatever you call it over here!” With a jaunty wave, George walked off down the street with his hands in his pockets.

Peter stared after him, shocked, then shook his head ruefully. The stereotype that all Americans were arrogant becomes more true with each one he met, even his mates back in Germany 10 years ago. Nonetheless he unlocked the door to the shop and immediately went out the back to his corner; Bessie would be in shortly to work at the counter, and he had a lot of sewing to do today.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to quickly say that in this universe, queer relationships are the norm, but they are subject to the same societal pressures as straight couples at the time; i.e. no public displays, keep it in the same class and race, no children out of wedlock etc. This is just to explain why people may not be reacting the way you think they would in certain situations.

By the end of the day he had practically forgotten about the strange man from the morning; they’d had several people come into pick up orders but the other tailor hadn’t finished the work, so Peter had to abandon his own work to try and get it all done. In the end they’d had to get people to come back another day, and some even took their half mended clothing to take to another place. He and Bessie had done the best they could, but in the end, he’s pretty sure he won’t have a job here come Monday.

Helping Bessie to lock up, he gave her a friendly wave and left in the opposite direction to her, hands in his pockets and bone tired after the day. He completely ignored the figure leaning up against the wall as he passed, at least until a hand shot out and grabbed him in a similar way that it had that morning.

Startled, and raising a fist to strike his attacker, they spoke, “Whoa- hey now fella! Sorry to shock you! Did you forget about our date tonight?”

Fist still raised, Peter took a moment to register the red hair, the brown eyes, and the military stance, right, it was that George bloke.

Finally lowering his hand, Peter replied, “I ‘member, I also ‘member not actually agreeing to go.” He began to walk away, hoping the man wouldn’t be as persistent as he was that morning.

No such luck, “Come on man, just for an hour, I’ll buy you dinner!”

Peter was shaking his head before that man had even finished his sentence, “I ain’t going to dinner with a bloke I just met. You obviously came from the Yank military compound, go swap stories with them.”

George threw his hands in the air, “But they all have the same story!” He lowered his voice to imitate them, “I joined after Pearl Harbor, wanted to give those Japs a taste of their own medicine!” He shook his head, “they’re the ones who hardly saw any fighting, you know the type, they just want to say that they were in the war to look brave.”

Peter nodded along, knowing the type, but knowing it was mostly the upper class in England who did it, wanting the bravery awards without the risk of actually dying.

“So then I see you, in that coat,” George continued, “And I think, that coat has definitely seen some action, the man in it probably has too! Won’t you please put up with me for a night?”

Peter finally stopped and faced the pushy man, “Listen mate, I got to get home and feed me sons, and I don’t have any time to have a chat with you over a pint!” Seeing the other man’s crestfallen look, similar to ol’ Carter, he gives in a little. “The pub a few blocks west from here, The Spotted Cock, is good for a pint and a pie if you’re looking for a place to eat. I’m there most nights, if it’s quiet, I can spare a moment or two, but I can’t promise anything.”

George lights up and grabs his hand to shake furiously, “I appreciate it fella, say, I don’t even know your name yet.”

Pulling his hand free none too gentle, he answers, “Peter. Now I gotta get home to me boys.” 

George nods and finally lets him leave. Peter shoves his hands in his pockets and shakes his head, that was two very strange encounters from that man, and as he walked away, feeling eyes on his back as he went, he had a feeling that this would not be the last of it.

He made it home in record time, hating the lingering feeling of being watched and the old paranoia it brought up; in the darkness it was easy to confuse the streets of London as the streets of Hammelburg, every car could be full of Nazi generals, looking for a good time and finding an escaped prisoner would be the icing on top.

Sweating despite the cold, he unlocked the door to his home, and bustled in, trying not to let his anxiety show, before locking it. He turned and saw, Johnny in the kitchen watching him, and he could hear the radio faintly playing, telling him David was probably in the sitting room.

Johnny watched as he took off his coat and scarf and left them on the hooks by the door, “alright Da?” He asked gently, he had seen the difference in his father when he returned from war, their old games of cops and robbers had been stopped in favour of colouring quietly. It had taken months for him to get a smile out of his Da back then, and he’s always worried that something might make him go back to that man.

Peter nodded at his son, taking a deep breath to steady himself, and instead inhaling the smell of cooking meat.

“Whatchat?” He mumbled going to see what his son had put together. He looked over his shoulder and saw sausages sizzling in the pan, and a pot of potatoes boiling away on another cooker. “Where’dja get sausages from?”

Johnny shrugged, making his Da back off before turning to face him, “was at the sweet shop with Elizabeth, she had to go home for tea and I came home as well. Passed the butcher and this American bloke walked out shaking his head, he gave me everything he bought and said, ‘here son, I won’t be here long enough to eat all this’. I said I ain’t got any money to pay him with and he said ‘it’s a gift!’ Pats me on the shoulder and toddles off” He shook his head, “Yanks are so weird.”

Peter had to agree with him, “I met me own crazy American today. There must be a meeting of them happening here and we weren’t told.” He grinned at his son.

Johnny laughed back, “couldn’t they just stay in America and do that? Why did they have to come and bother us about it?”

They share the laugh and Peter suddenly feels a lot lighter. His sons were the only ones able to do that for him, he regrets making them have to, but he is so thankful that they’re happy to.

He pats Johnny on the shoulder and walks to his room to change, the rain hadn’t stopped falling since that morning, and stopping in it twice to talk to the persistent Yank had left his coat damp enough to seep through to his shirt a little. Luckily he didn’t have any work tomorrow, so it had a good chance to dry out. He got changed into some comfy clothes and came out to settle in a chair by the fire, pleased that his eldest was taking care of tea so he could relax for the moment.

David looked up as he entered the sitting room, he was reading a book with a crudely made boat sitting next to him.

“S’that your boat Davie?” He asked as he settled into his chair, “pass it ‘ere, didja win?”

David did just that with a huge smile on his face. “Yeah Da, the lads thought it was too heavy to float, but they didn’t notice the current, I just picked the best spot and it won every time!”

Peter pat his son on the back, “good on ya! I tell ya what, I don’t know where these smarts come from, if I knew anything ‘bout currents then I coulda been in the navy!”

David laughed with his Da, delighting in the praise, he took the boat back carefully and went back to his book with a smile on his face.

Peter kept smiling as well, happy in that moment despite the long day. He shut his eyes for a second and let the gentle sounds from the radio wash over him, knowing his family is safe with every scrape of a page being turned, and every clutter from the kitchen. He dozed lightly, and before he knew it, Johnny was softly calling him for dinner. He stretched out in his chair and yawned, nodding to his son he slowly got up and went into the kitchen where both his boys were waiting with their own plates of bangers and mash steaming in front of them. They weren’t the type to say a prayer before eating, but they believed in all of them being at the table before they start, so they all dug in together.


	3. Chapter 3

It was weeks later, but Mondays never change. Peter woke from a restful night, which doesn’t happen that often, to the sounds of his sons already getting ready for their days, Johnny to work as a builder, and David getting into his uniform for school. Blinking awake, he listened to the noises for a second before resigning himself to getting up as well.

Slowly pulling on his clothes, he wandered out and was happy to hear the kettle already whistling as he entered. He stopped where David was sitting on the ground pulling on his shoes near the door, dropped a shilling or two into his blazer pocket and kissed him on the forehead goodbye.

“Thanks Da, bye.” He responded, “Bye Johnny!” He called into the other room, out the door before the responding ‘bye’ could be heard.

Chuckling, Peter went to grab the kettle for a cuppa, he had a little time before he had to leave to make some breakfast, settling on making some porridge since he knew that they had enough milk for once.

“Want some porridge, Johnny?”

“I got up a bit earlier and had some beans, I’m fine. I haveta go anyway, William is coming to pick me up soon.” He allowed his Da to plant a kiss on his forehead before he too made for the door, lacing up his work boots and opening the door, only to close it softly and walk back in the house.

“That was quick,” Peter quipped, not looking up from the pot he had put his porridge in.

“Hey Da,” Johnny spoke, “Why would an army man in his dress suit be waiting outside?”

“What?” Peter’s head shot up, feeling faint as he looked at his son who was still looking at the door.

“There’s a bloke standing outside, leaning up against the stair rail, he’s all dressed up as well, like all the soldiers were in those parades.”

Peter walked over on shaky legs, there were very few reasons why a soldier in uniform would be at his door, and none of them were good. He didn’t understand, he’d done what they asked, he’d left quietly without a fuss, never tried to contact anyone, never wanted more from anyone. Why were they coming now? What did they want?

Thoughts racing, he stepped in front of his son, “stay inside, don’t come out unless I say, okay?

“Da…” Johnny started to protest, but stopped with a hard look from his father, he would stay inside, but he won’t let anything happen to his Da, he made a silent promise.

Taking a deep breath, Peter grabbed the door handle and opened it a sliver as silently as he could, it still squeaked, but the bustle from the road should hide it. He gazed out through the crack and saw what his son saw; the soldier’s back was to him, but the the United States military dress uniform was unmistakable, the broad shoulders were relaxed in an ‘at ease’ stance, but he looked up and down the street in constant vigilance. Peter almost started to panic, what could the U.S. army want with him? But then he noticed the red hair peaking out from under the cap.

Stepping out the door, he frowned as he called, “George?”

The figure spun around in surprise, but then grinned when he saw who called, “Good morning, Peter!”

“The bloody ‘ell are you doing here?” Peter demanded. They had met up quite a few more times after their initial meeting, always at the pub Peter worked at. He came in for dinner a few times a week, chatted to a few birds if Peter got busy and kept him company as he cleaned and closed up for the night. Peter had come to consider him a close acquaintance, but he had never invited him to his house before, or even hinted where he lived.

“I am going to escort you to work,” he replies with a small bow, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“You bloody ‘ell are not! How do you even know where I live?” Peter hadn’t felt this angry in a long time, not at anyone, it almost felt liberating.

“Oh, I followed you.” George answered simply, “A few weeks ago when you slipped on that puddle at the bar and hurt your knee? I followed you to make sure you got home alright.”

Peter gaped at him for a moment, not sure how to react to this caring, yet creepy person in front of him. Finally, he just stepped back and shut the door harder than he probably should’ve. 

Johnny was still standing by the door, except now he had a bowl of porridge in his hands. “You know that bloke?” He asked, handing over the bowl.

“Yeah,” Peter grunts, heading to the table with his food. “Bloody crazy Yank keeps popping up at the pub, and now he wants ta walk me to work.” 

“Are ya gonna let ‘im?” Johnny asked curiously. He’d heard quite a lot about the man over the past few weeks and he didn’t seem like a bad bloke, just earnest. His Da has always been immensely private though, and this man arriving unannounced has rattled him.

Peter frowned into his porridge, “prolly, but I’m gonna make ‘im wait.” And he scoops another spoonful into his mouth, eating it much slower than he normally would.

“Well I have ta go, alright?”

“Alright, bye Johnny.”

Johnny steps out like he intended to ten minutes ago, eyeing the man who stood there watching the door. His mate William was there waiting for him on the curb, leaning over the handlebars and not trying to hide his staring at the soldier.

“Hey there, you must be Johnny!” The man greets with a wave. “Off to work are you? Say, is your Dad coming out?”

Johnny waits until he is in front of the man to respond, “why’re you here, mate?”

“I- er- as I told your Dad-”

“Yeah, ‘ta walk ‘im to work’, he said, but why? We’ve been hurt by you military types before, you popping over at our house for no reason causes a panic. So I ask ya again, why’re you here?” Johnny stared at him unblinking, this man was already on his bad side, just the same way he had immediately gotten on his Da’s, but he was less willing to forgive.

George fumbled for an answer for a moment, this wasn’t the first time his enthusiasm had gotten him in trouble. “I, well, I like him. I think he’s interesting, funny, and sarcastic as hell. I respect him, you can tell he has seen a lot in the war, but he is just trying to support you and your brother without any fuss. I admire that, you know?”

Johnny stared at him a little longer, not giving away anything with his face. He knew his mate William behind him would be pulling a similar one behind him, even though he wouldn’t understand what is going on, his Da had taken William in numerous times over the years, fed him and let him rest when his family just couldn’t handle another mouth to feed.

Without acknowledging George again, he turned around and got on William’s bike, patting him on the shoulder indicating that he should go.

George watched them leave, before turning back to the door to see Peter coming out.

Peter frowned when he saw the big smile on George’s face. “I woulda made ya wait longer, but I hafta get to work.”

“Good enough for me!” George sang, turning to walk beside him.

“I met your boy just then, he’s a… strong fella isn’t he?” George asked mildly.

Peter nodded, not looking at him. “He’s a bit wary of strangers. Your lucky William didn’t take a swing at ya, he must not’ve thought you’re too dangerous.” He quirked a smile at the thought.

George puffed up his chest in response. “I’ll have you know I’m in the army! I’m plenty dangerous! Oh, but-” he deflated, “I wouldn’t hurt you or yours, they’re only looking out for you.”

Peter nodded, “a soldier in dress uniform hanging around gives people the willies, speaking of-” he stopped and pointed, “why’re you all dressed up anyway? You giving some bad news to someone?”

George looked down at himself, straightened his coat a little, and shook his head, “I don’t think you Brits would appreciate an American turning up to give you the bad news.” He laughed, “but no, today, and for the next few weeks I’m playing tour guide for a visiting American general.”

“‘E want a tour of the city?”

“No,” George shook his head again, “he has apparently been here numerous times. My job is more to accompany him while he’s here, he’s known to escape his handlers and make his own fun around town.” He laughed, “He’s only here for a while, apparently he was a prisoner of war, and they’re honouring him and a few others with medals of bravery.”

Peter looked down and nodded. His stomach clenched at the thought of POWs being honoured; he knew he wouldn’t be included on that list, they’d made that very clear, and he never usually thought about it, but to know that someone was here to be rewarded for it made his heart hurt.

“Why’re they doin’ it now? ‘S been 10 years since the war.” Peter had to know. 

George shrugged, “I have no idea. I know that he is collecting the medals for his other comrades from the camp who couldn’t make it, but it’s all about him, really. I think he has done a lot of other things in the war which is why they’ve really got him here. They couldn't before because there was a big risk to his safety, but at this point we’re hoping to lure Nazi sympathisers out to the open.”

Peter nodded, it made a lot of sense, and an American general would be arrogant enough to stand in the firing line in order to trick Nazis into attempting to murder him.

“I’ve heard around base that he’s a pretty fun guy, though,” George grinned. “Maybe I’ll bring him to your pub sometime, I’m sure the regulars will get a kick out of him like they did with me.”

Peter laughed a little, “Yeah mate, they got a kick out of ya because you make up these stories about the war and act ‘em out on top of tables. And ya start buying rounds for everyone the more drinks ya had.”

“Yes, and they love it!” George laughed as well.

They walked in silence the rest of the way, both of them smiling and enjoying each other’s company. When they reached the front door, Peter turned to unlock it but was stopped when George gently grabbed his arm; he had learned to be softer after a while.

“Hey Peter,” he mumbled, “I don’t think I apologised for scaring you back at your house.”

Peter turned and blinked at him, “George-”

“Actually I know I didn’t. I know that even if I had turned up in my regular clothes you still wouldn’t of been happy with me, I just wanted you to see me in my dress uniform and see how spiffy I can look.”

Peter chuckled, “you do look very ‘spiffy’ mate.”

George grinned, “yes I do. And I wanted to take you out tonight once I tuck the General into bed, in my spiffy uniform, not just to the pub, but maybe one of those Italian restaurants that have been opening up lately. What do you say?” He looked hopeful.

Peter eyed him carefully, “This an apology or a date?”

“A bit of both, but more of the latter.”

Peter looked back at the door in thought for a moment, “alright then. I’ll see if I can use the phone in the shop to call me neighbour so she can tell the boys.” He eyes him again, “I hope it ain’t too fancy, I only got the clothes on me back.”

“You mean you can’t just borrow one of the suits you’re mending out the back?” George joked, “don’t worry, I’ll find somewhere suitable. I’ll see you tonight at 6.” He leaned over and kissed Peter’s cheek with a mischievous grin, before walking off in the direction of the barracks.

Peter shook his head at the other man, muttering under his breath, but he had a small smile on his face nonetheless. The incident that morning pushed to the back of his mind in the face of a date.


	4. Chapter 4

As 6pm loomed closer, Peter became more nervous; it was easy enough to chat with George as friends, but the dating part was scary. He’d barely been on any dates before the war, and there was definitely none after it, there was no time between his son, his jobs, his nightmares, and his… well, his life.

He shook his head to ward those thoughts away. There was no point in dwelling, and all he’d be rewarded with would be mucking up the garment he was sowing and having to redo it.

The shop closed at 5, but he often stayed until 6 to finish up a piece he was working on, or to help clean up the store, whereas the other tailors were out the door as soon as the clock rang out 5 times. Peter managed to get focused in the last two hours of work, and when 6 o’clock struck, he buttoned up his coat with only thoughts of his sons and the warm fireplace that waited at home.

As he walked, George quickly caught up next to him, “where are you off to in such a rush?”

Peter was startled for a second, before remembering his nervousness and rubbed the back of his neck with a chuckle, “ah, it got a bit busy at work. It’s been a long time since I went anywhere but home after work, I’m just doing what comes naturally.”

George laughed, “and I thought you only walked at that speed to get away from me! It turns out that it’s just how you naturally walk, fast like you want to get away, but you don’t want anyone to know it!”

Peter just smiled this time, feeling his mood darken a little, “so where are we going? I can’t stay out too late, I told me boys I’d be back in time to put ‘em to bed.”

George nodded, “I understand. The restaurant is not too far away, but it would hardly be a good date if I made you walk!”

“Are you going to carry me then?” Peter quipped.

“Even better!” George smiled as he gestured to a sleek black car, cleaned and shiny, it was fit for a King, or even…

“You stole your General’s car?” Peter asked in shock, standing still as George hurried over and opened the passenger side door.

“Not stole!” George laughed, “I have to be able to meet the General’s every whim at a moment’s notice, that means have a car so I can get around town quickly for whatever he may need.”

Peter slowly walked over as George was making grand gestures to usher him inside, still smiling cheekily. He slid into the cab, noting and admiring the smoothness of the leather seats, and all the space he had for his legs. George shut the door gently as he got in, and then ran around the front to get into the driver’s seat, grinning madly as he watched Peter look around the interior with wonder.

The car rumbled to life, snapped Peter back to reality. “Should I drive mate? You Yanks drive on the other side don’t ya?”

George sat up a bit straighter, “I’ll have you know sir, that I just spend the whole day chauffeuring an American General around and not once did I get a complaint about my driving skills!” He looked over to his date with a grin, “it is really quite impressive, since Generals love to complain about things!”

Peter laughed and nodded his head in agreement, he had met far too many in his time that fit that description. “‘Ow was ol’ five stars anyway? Was he just as fun as you imagined?”

George pulled the car away from the curb expertly as he answered; “better! I did the whole nine yards, the ‘yes sir’, ‘no sir’, saluting every time he looked my way, but he told me to knock it off, and to save it for the compound. I had to take him to a stuffy formal lunch where I had to wait outside, and he had a piece of cake and some bread brought out to me. He asked me to take him to a park where he fed the leftovers to the ducks, then he gave to remainder to some children who were watching, and got them to join in!”

Peter laughed, “sounds like you want to go on a date with him rather than me.”

“Ha! I think he’s a bit out of my league!” He smoothly pulled into a parking spot across the road from some well lit restaurants. “Actually, I told him about our date tonight. He asked where we were going, I told him I hadn’t figured that out yet, so he made me bring him here to get us a reservation at, and I quote, ‘the best damn Italian outside Italy!’” 

“Your General is certainly well travelled,” Peter said as he slipped out of the car. George ran around the car and looked disappointed when he didn’t get to open the door for him to get out, but he was appeased when Peter settled a hand into the crook of his shoulder, leading them both across the road.

They entered and Peter immediately felt underdressed, men in suit jackets and women in their Sunday best chattered amongst themselves; it was not the fanciest place by any means, but here, Peter’s trousers that were noticeably thin at the knees and his RAF coat that was far too big for him stood out like a sore thumb. George still wore his dress uniform from that morning, and now that he thought about it, that was far more likely to get them strange looks than what he wore.

George gave his name and they were taken to their seats, just by a window with a nice view of the street, which shined in the light of the street lights due to the rain that fell during the day. Both of the looked around the place as a waiter placed menus in front of them and pour them some water.

Suddenly feeling awkward, Peter hid his head behind his menu to stare blankly at the menu that he couldn’t really read; fluent in German thanks to his captors during the war, fluent in French thanks to LeBeau demanding he learn because he missed hearing his own language, he even had a small grasp on Russian due to the small number of them in a barracks across the compound, not that he would admit that in these times where knowing Russian could land you in prison, or spied on. He never had the chance to learn Italian, however; there were never going to be any Italian prisoners of war of course, and they obviously never felt the need to travel to Hammelburg and tour the German POW camps, which was probably the best thing for their overall health; important people who visited Stalag 13 tended to not live for very long afterwards. Peter had to chuckle, how on earth were they never caught? The fact that the main members of the team lived to see the end of the war surpasses even Colonel Hogan’s legendary luck and intuition.

George looked up from his menu at the laugh and raised an eyebrow at his date. Peter just smiled and waved his hand, indicating that it didn’t matter, and lowered his menu. “I have no bloody idea what any of this says, mate” He admitted with a laugh. 

George laughed as well, “neither do I! But it looks really fancy doesn’t it?”

They laughed together and any remaining tension was lifted. The waiter came over after a few minutes and offer some help in making a choice, they chose a spaghetti bolognese to share, with a red wine to match, George chose a tiramisu for dessert and Peter some gelato in a bowl. Conversation came easy over their meals, and they got a few stares when they would laugh out loud, but they didn’t care. Too soon, however, the waiter took away their dessert dishes and they finished the last of their drinks, the bill was placed on their table, and before Peter could begin to feel the cold dread at the total amount, George snatched it away from sight and declared he was paying. Peter protested, mainly for pride’s sake, but George remained firm, shaking his head and getting up to head over to the counter to pay.

Peter watched him, then declared to the retreating back that he was going to the restroom, getting a backwards wave in reply.

Not actually needing to go, he washed his hands under the tap, and splashed water in his face. Looking up to face himself in the mirror, he realised he was smiling, big and wide, it’s been a long time since someone outside family had made him do it, and the conversation they had over dinner had made him feel giddy like a school boy. He was actually enjoying himself, not just content with how things were going. If he was being honest, he hasn’t felt this way since the war, since Barracks 7 where he swindled guards and prisoners alike out of their possessions, where LeBeau would force him to eat his food that he scraped together out of nothing, and it usually ended up not tasting as bad as he made out; where on quiet nights, Hogan would join him downstairs on radio duty, and they would pretend that they were in another time and place for a few hours.

Shaking those thoughts away, he really shouldn’t be thinking about things like that when he’s actually on a date with another man, he dried his hands on his pants and left the restroom, looking over at their empty table, he saw that it had been cleared away. He headed for the front, not seeing George there at the counter waiting for him, he walked straight outside, to find that the other man was nowhere in sight, and he couldn’t pick the black car apart from any of the others in the street.

Confused, he looked up and down the street, not spotting the redhead. He turned to look back inside but he wasn’t there either, but maybe he went to the bathroom and they somehow missed each other. So Peter stuffed his hands into his pockets and settled in to wait, wishing he had a cigarette to help warm his body, but he never had the money to spare for them.

Bouncing up and down to keep his legs warm, he kept glancing up and down the street, then behind him into the restaurant, searching for any sign of him, but there was none. Eventually the staff inside noticed him loitering and told him to move on; he asked if there was a redhead in army uniform inside and they shook their head and went to go back inside when he stopped them again to ask for directions, they impatiently waved a hand to the West and left him alone.

Sparing one last glance around, he started off home; the car ride wasn’t very long from the shop, so surely it’d only be an hour’s walk or so. 

Head low and scarf wrapped tightly around his neck, he wasn’t sure how he felt about how this night was ending. His stomach was clench tight with the thought of being left behind; it was all too reminiscent of other times he had been abandoned for whatever reason. At the same time anger and embarrassment warred in his heart, George was the one to pursue him, even after a less than stellar beginning, he was the one to make all the effort for the date, finding the place, driving them, and paying for it all; Peter smirked bitterly, he supposed he should be glad that the man did that before running off.

He didn’t seem like a typical skirt chaser; he flirted a little with the birds in the pub while Peter was busy, but as soon as Peter was free then he got all the attention, even sending the girls off to talk with him alone. So it was unlikely that he saw a better offer and went after it.

Peter picked up his pace as frustration started to build. The same questions just kept echoing, without an answer; why did he leave?

What was the point of dragging Peter along like this?

Was he having a laugh with his buddies at the barracks? With that General?

What was the point?

Feeling close to tears, he started jogging, then running down the street; he had a vague knowledge of where he was going, and now he just wanted to get home, to his boys and to his bed. He had work tomorrow and he had stayed up late enough as it is, he was going to be tired tomorrow.


	5. Chapter 5

The next day saw Peter up well before he had to be up, eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep, and his head felt heavy after crying into the night. He sat fully dressed at the kitchen table, trying to encourage himself to get up and make some breakfast for the boys and pretend that everything was okay.

He eyed the kettle on the stove, willing it to start warming itself up so he didn’t have to move, when Johnny came out, still in his pajamas and rubbing his eyes.

“Morning Da,” he mumbled, lightly pressing a hand to the kettle and frowning when he felt it was cold, and turning on a burner to get it started.

“Morning,” Peter whispered back, telling himself that he was being quiet to let Davie sleep a bit longer, rather than because his throat felt raw.

Johnny picked up on the tone and turned to face his father immediately, looking at him intensely for long enough that Peter almost felt like squirming in his seat.

“What’s happened?” He asked lightly.

Peter rubbed the back of his neck and looked away from his eldest. “Nothin’, didn’t get much sleep last night, is all.”

Johnny nodded, “you were late coming back last night, later than ya said.”

Peter’s cheeks heated, and he kept his gaze down, “ah, yeah. Sorry, I didn’t mean ta wake ya.”

Johnny frowned, there’s was a lot being unsaid but he could pick up on his father’s ques better than anyone.

“I didn’t like that bloke who came around yesterday.” He stated.

Peter’s head shot up to meet his son’s eyes again, “what?”

“I didn’t like ‘im. Comes over al Mr. Big Shot American, doesn’t leave when ya slam a door in his face. Asks ya out on the same day ‘e upsets ya, and does somethin’ that made ya late getting home and all upset.” He shrugs, “no, I don’t like ‘im at all.”

Peter nodded, his son has always been very blunt about things, although he probably would’ve been a bit nicer about the delivery had the date gone well.

“Alright Johnny. Prolly won’t see ‘im again anyway.” He mumbled, saying thanks when his son put a cup of tea in front of him and feeling a bit selfish when his eldest immediately started on breakfast for everyone, knowing he should’ve been doing it.

There was a silence over the kitchen, Johnny focused mostly on making the porridge in front of him, but listened to the little sounds that his dad made at the table. David eventually came out of their shared room, ready for a quick breakfast and then to head off to school; he didn’t notice the mood of the kitchen, he typically doesn’t, so he happily filled the silence with what he did at school yesterday, since he didn’t have a chance to last night.

All too soon, he left, and it was just the two of them again.

“You got work today, Johnny?” Peter asked, swallowing a mouthful of porridge.

Johnny shook his head, “we’re waiting for more supplies to come, and they ain’t expected ‘til next week. They gave us today, but we’ll hafta go back tomorrow.” He stood up to take his bowl to the sink. “William is still coming over, we’re gonna ride around, maybe go see the girls after they finish work.”

Peter nodded, “Stop by the store on your way home? We need more beans, and check if they have any fruit, don’t need you boys getting scurvy.” He got up and went to his coat to fish out some money, “and if there’s any left over for some lollies, buy some for you and Davie, it’s been awhile since we had any.”

Johnny was shaking his head, “Da, we can’t.”

“It’s fine Johnny, it’s okay to have a treat every now and then.” 

Johnny stared at him for another moment, before nodded with a frown. Peter nodded back and went to go wash his face before heading off to work. He was just reaching for a towel when he heard a loud knock from the front door and felt his heart stop. He heard Johnny get up from the table to go and answer it, and he heard Johnny’s angry ‘you!’ before the door slammed.

Peter crept into the hallway, and not seeing his son, he went to the window with a view of the street. Just as he thought, it was George, in his well pressed army uniform, and wringing his hat in his hands as Johnny loomed over him, standing on the upper steps with his arms crossed.

More than adept at eavesdropping, Peter angled his right ear to the edge of the window sill where the most noise enters and ducked low out of sight.

He couldn’t make out much, only when Johnny would get loud could he hear him demanding the other man leave. He couldn’t make out any actual words from George so he raised his head to try and get a look at him, and saw a guilty man, and bloody hell had he seen a lot of them. Occasionally he would gesture with his hands in frustration, but he never raised his voice, which was lucky because if he had then Peter would’ve stormed out to belt him.

Much like yesterday, William pulled up on his bicycle in the nick of time, and hurriedly got off it to back up his friend if needed. With the odds against him, George beat a hasty retreat, running his hand through his red hair and setting off down the street without looking back at the house.

William and Johnny spoke quietly on the front step for a second, before both came inside; Peter retreated from the window as George left, and was dishing up a bowl of porridge for William as they entered.

“Alright, William?” He asked from the stove as the boys sat at the table.

“Alright Da,” he responded. The quiet boy had started calling him that a long time ago, referring to his own father as Pop, or ‘wanker’, depending on what was the most fitting on any given day.

Johnny didn’t even pretend to not know that Peter was eavesdropping. “Will’s gonna take ya to work.” He stated as Peter gave the other boy some breakfast.

“What? Ya don’t hafta William,” Peter felt embarrassed that his 20 year old son and his best friend feel the need to protect him; he’d survived a bloody war for heaven's sake!

“I am,” Will simply stated, not someone who wasted time on unnecessary words.

“Da,” Johnny said patiently, “that Yank is persistent. ‘E’ll follow you ta work and push ya to forgive him, ‘e blurted out what happened just now, and his reasons are bloody awful.”

Peter sighed, “Johnny, ya can’t keep us separate forever. You and Will got work tomorrow, and ‘e knows me schedule at the pub. I hafta talk ta ‘im sooner or later.”

Johnny crossed his arms, “we’ll think about tomorrow, tomorrow. Today, Will is gonna take ya and pick ya up from work.” He asserts, then turns to his best friend, “ready Will?”

Will scraped up the last mouthful and nodded back, putting his bowl in the sink and walking to the door.

Peter sighed again and gave in to his forceful son. “Fine, just for today, I don’t wanna talk ta ‘im anyway,” he turns to Johnny, pointing a finger at him sternly, “ya better do these dishes before Will gets back then.”

Johnny pulled a face, but nods, allowing his father to press a kiss to his forehead before he pulled on his shoes and headed out the door.

William was ready and waiting on his bike as Peter walks out, staring intently down the street to his right where George could be seen standing, waiting a few houses down, and as Peter got settled on the back of the bike, the redhead quickly started to make his way towards them, already opening his mouth to speak. William didn’t even give him a chance and pushed off down the road before he got too close, peddling hard just incase they were chased, but slowing down when Peter told him they were clear.

The trip to work was much shorter on a bike, so when they got there he took the time to ask William how things were going at home. He mostly just got grunts and hand gestures, but he could tell that things were not going great.

He lays a hand on Will’s shoulder, “stay with us tonight if ya want, I’ll get Davie to sleep in my bed.” He looks at Will until he gets a tiny head nod, and pats him on the shoulder and sends him on his way.

Tuesday was a relatively calm day for the shop; people bring in their garments that they managed to ruin over the weekend on Monday, so the next day there are usually only people coming to pick things up. It’s Wednesdays and Thursdays where people tend to bring in their ripped work clothes, and on Fridays people desperately need their fancy clothes tailored to fit their exact measurements that week.

Peter couldn’t give all of his focus to work that day, and the reason had been a repeating one since he’d met the man a few months ago. Peter was slow to trust typically, so how had this man been able to worm his way inside enough for it to hurt when he let him down? It was crazy, but maybe Peter had just plain had enough of being alone; sure he had Mavis and her family, along with his boys, Will, and a few neighbours that he was friendly with, but they were no substitute for a real adult relationship. And now that he thought about it, he was aching for it, or anything even close to it, anything like the brief moments of happiness that he secretly had in the war. Anything. 

But George was young and idealistic. He joined the American army late, and saw the fringes of warfare during the clean up after the big battles were won; at the end of the day, he wouldn’t be happy with a bitter old veteran whose mind can take him back to battle from someone shouting on the street, and Peter couldn’t be happy with someone who can think it’s fine to run off in the middle of a date without giving any reason or leaving a note. His heart was far too brittle for someone like that.

He had his resolve strengthened by the end of the day; he didn’t make much progress on his work, but he left feeling like a lighter man nonetheless.

He helped Bessie lock up at the end of the day, listening to her complain about having to look after her younger siblings that night with a smile on his face. They locked the door and bid each other goodbye, and she hurried off down the street, already late if he was to understand what she’d be talking about for the last half hour.

Turning around, he didn’t immediately see Will waiting for him out the front, which was fine, they would surely cross paths at some point if the boy was running late.

He barely took a step before he heard that familiar accent calling to him, pleading for him.

“Please Peter! I need to talk to you!”

Resolved to ignore him, Peter started on his way home, knowing the moment when he caught up and slowed from his job to walk next to him.

“Peter,” he begged. “I have to apologise, I-” he ran a hand through his hair, “I shouldn’t have left, I should’ve told you I had to leave, I-”

“Sounds like ya don’t really know what ya should’ve done there mate.” Peter grunted, “and ya know what I noticed? Ya say that ya need ta apologise, but ya don’t actually apologise, ya did it yesterday as well.”

“Peter…”

“What?”

“I had to- the General called the restaurant, I had to go to him!”

Peter rolled his eyes and scoffed, “alright mate.” He spied William peddling down the street at a brutal pace and waved at him, trying to show that he was okay.

“Listen,” and George grabbed his arm tightly, almost painfully, also seeing the youth speeding towards them and not finished talking yet.

And suddenly William was between them, breaking the other man’s grip and sending a fist into his nose.

It was the ‘crunch’ sound, along with the blood that spurted out zoned him out, it was all he could see, all he could smell. Someone held onto his hand tightly and tried to lead him away from the scene, just like LeBeau used to when all he wanted to do was sit and watch an explosion until the Nazis found him.

He was pushed onto a bike and it barely registered for him to hold on to the body in front of him as they rode away from the American groaning and bleeding on the street.

They flew down the street, Peter could hear William puffing from peddling so hard, but he didn’t slow down, he swerved around people and cars that were in the way, completely focused on getting them home. 

Peter felt like he only blinked twice before they were stopping in front of his house, with Will holding the bike steady so he could slide off. He noticed how red in the face the boy was and felt bad about making him take him home. Remembering suddenly, he grabbed William’s hand to inspect the knuckles; the middle knuckle was bleeding, and all of them were swollen, he must’ve put a lot of force into the punch.

“Come on Will, we’ll get ya hand fixed up, and you’re stayin’ the night.” Peter stated as he pulled him inside by the hand.

Johnny and Davie were already inside, and dinner was being cooked on the stove. They had a lot of questions as the two of them walked inside, but Peter waved them off and pulled William to the bathroom.

“Davie, go grab a dish towel from the cupboard,” he asked as he knelt down and set about cleaning the slightly bleeding knuckle as thoroughly as he could with tap water and toilet tissue. Davie brought the towel and passed it in, and stood at the open door, watching, as Peter wet the towel with water as cold as he could get it and wrapped it around the bruised hand.

“What happened Da?” Davie asked as he finished up.

Peter stood up with a sigh, “is dinner ready Davie? I need to talk ta you boys.”

His youngest nodded and went back to the kitchen, with those in the bathroom following after him. Dinner was ready, and as they ate, Peter told them what happened that afternoon.

Johnny was frowning as he listen, and he looked to his best friend as he finished, “we definitely need to take him to and from work from now on.” Will nodded in agreement, “I got a bit of money, I’ll buy a bike as well so we can both do it,” Will nodded again.

Peter shook his head at the boys, “bloody ‘ell boys, you need to stop!” He snapped.

Everyone at the table stopped to look at him.

“I’m a bloody grown man, I fought in a war! I can bloody protect meself!”

“Da-” Johnny began, but was quickly shushed.

“What ya did today was bloody reckless!” He pointed at Will, and turned to his eldest, “and I know ya would’ve done the same if you were there! Or encouraged Davie to do it if ‘e was there!”

Peter got up and started pacing, “You boys got your whole life ahead of ya! Ya can’t go punching people in the face when ya think they deserve it! We got laws about this, otherwise George could waltz on in ‘ere and do the same right back at ya!”

He looked at the startled faces watching him; he very rarely raised his voice to them, he very rarely needed to, and they usually responded well to having a serious talk rather than being yelled at. He wanted to stop, but he had to make them understand.

“Boys,” he said, bringing down his tone of voice, “you two are adults, ya can be arrested for things like this now. Even worse is that ‘e is military, that means the military police could come around, and that’s the last thing we need.”

He caught all of their gazes, staring to make sure they were still listening. “I want ya all ta promise that ya won’t do anymore of this. Ya see ‘im walking down the street, ya cross the road, ya don’t talk ta ‘im, ya don’t look at ‘im, ‘e isn’t worth it.”

He saw Johnny’s mouth twist unhappily, and focused on his eldest, “son, you’re savin’ that money ta take Elizabeth out on fancy dates; ‘er parents ain’t never gonna respect ya if ya keep comin’ around for dinner instead of takin’ ‘er somewhere nice.” He shook his head, “don’t waste ya money on a bike mate, tomorrow will be back to normal.” His boys were quiet, all of them looking down into their dinners, but they nodded in agreement.

With a sigh, Peter picked up his and David’s plates as Johnny quickly got up to help grab the remaining ones. They put them in the sink and filled it up with warm water from the kettle, and started to scrub them clean with Johnny on drying duty.

“Tell me ya understand me, Johnny,” Peter murmured quietly.

“I understand ya,” Johnny matched his volume, “I don’t like it, but I understand ya.”

Peter sighed, “I’m just tryna protect you boys.”

“I know Da,” Johnny assured him, “but I don’t like this Yank. Followin’ ya around, followin’ ya home, always pushin’ for something. ‘E’s always around isn’t he? Everywhere ya look, it’s creepy.”

Peter shook his head, “maybe that’s just how they do it in the states?”

Johnny shrugged, “you’d know better than me, you’ve met more of ‘em. But it ain’t right around here. If I did that ta Elizabeth then ‘er parents would call the bobbies on me, you would too if someone did it ta Davie.” His father nods in agreement, “so we wanna protect ya like ya do for us; but we won’t use no more violence, we promise ya that.”

Peter took the compromise with a nod, and they finished the dishes in silence, with Davie starting to talk with a mostly quiet William.


	6. Chapter 6

The morning came quickly, but Peter was a bit slow moving that morning; he felt like he had been through an emotional wringer yesterday, and the biting cold of the morning before the sun rose did nothing to quicken his pace.

But still, he got up when he was supposed to, put on the kettle and made a big breakfast for three growing boys, who all shuffled out around the same time that he was dividing it all out between them. They said their thanks and immediately started to eat, they kept mostly quiet, but Johnny and Will kept eyeing each other as they ate, and Peter wondered if they thought they were being subtle about it.

Davie raced off to the bus first, as he normally does, with Johnny and Will following along not long after; they both raised eyebrows at him in question, but he just kissed them both on the forehead and told them to have a good day at work.

He took his time that morning, washing the dishes and leaving them to air dry, he grabbed a coat, one of Johnny’s ones, he couldn’t remember where he’d left his blue coat the night before in all the excitement, put on his shoes and made to leave, stopping briefly at the door to take a breath, before opening it as silently as he could. He looked around, and not seeing any redhead waiting for him, he instantly felt more relaxed, and stepped out to get to work.

That positivity lasted no longer than a few steps down the street, when a black car pulled up next to him, and two men dressed in a uniform he didn’t recognise stepped out.

“Mr. Newkirk?” one man said, he was shorter and older than the other one.

“Yes?” He answered cautiously, whatever is happening here can’t be good.

“My name is Sergeant Watts,” the man then gestured to his partner, “and this is Sergeant Franks, we are a part of the Royal Military Police, have you heard of us before?”

Newkirk almost raised an eyebrow, did they not do any background check on him first? “Yes”, he answered.

Watts nodded, “good. We are here on behalf of an incident that occurred last night at roughly 1800 that we believe that you were a witness to.”

Peter’s heart went cold in his chest, “and what incident would that be?”

“The account we have is that Captain George Pierce was talking with you at 1800 last night when he was attacked without provocation by a youth only known as ‘William’. Can you please offer you version of events?” Watts asked calmly.

His throat felt clogged, he can’t believe that bloody snake would try to land a boy in trouble with the military police for a bunged up nose! It was pathetic, it was anger inducing, that he was willing to ruin a boy’s life over a little bit of hurt pride and a bloody nose.

Peter knew what he had to do, he knew it from the second that the punch landed what he would do if something like this were to happen.

“Yeah, alright, I’ll tell ya what ‘appened.” He spoke to Watts, “it was me. I punched the wanker in the face.”

The two Sergeants looks at each other, and then shifted, still keeping their calm posture, but both angled themselves to crowd him a bit more.

“Can you please explain,” Watts asked politely.

Peter nodded at him, also trying to look as nonthreatening as possible. “We was ‘aving an argument, see? I tried ta walk away, but he grabbed me arm really rough like, so I belted ‘im!”

Watts nodded, “I see. But why does he think it was this ‘William’ boy?”

“Georgie boy had been creepin’ around me house and heard his name. Will is me son’s friend, and he was coming to give me a ride home from work on ‘is bike, George musta seen ‘im coming down the street and thought it was ‘im.”

The Sergeants looked at each other again, “you’d better come with us Mr. Newkirk.” Watts motioned to is car.

Peter nodded, not going to try and fight it. “Just let me tell me neighbour so she can tell me boys when they get home.” They nodded, and let him knock on his neighbour’s door, Franks stepping up next to him, not saying anything as his old neighbour opened her door, his presence was enough.

“Milly,” Peter greeted, “I hafta work late at the pub tonight, and I gots a long shift tomorrow. Can you tell the boys that I won’t be home prolly until Friday night?” He asks sweetly.

Eyeing the man next to him, Mildred nodded, “shall I take around some dinner for them?”

Peter smiled at her, “don’t trouble yourself Milly, Johnny needs ta learn ta cook proper meals, I ain’t raising ‘im to make his good wife do it all!”

Mildred smiled at her favourite neighbour, and closed the door after promising to check in on them.

Peter let his shoulders slump, and turned to Franks, who gestured for him to walk ahead of him to the car. Pushing him into the back seat and sitting in there next to him as Watts pulled away from the curb.


	7. Chapter 7

Peter had been sitting in this blank room for a while; a normal person wouldn’t have any idea how long, but he had always had a great internal body clock, which had been finely tuned as a POW. Therefore, he knew that he had been here for at least 4 hours now, they had pretty much given him some tea and left him there without anyone coming in since.

He was busting for the toilet, so he hoped that he wouldn’t be waiting for much longer.

As if summoning them from thought alone, Watts and Franks strolled in a few minutes later, another steaming cup of tea was placed in front of him by Franks. 

“Can I go to the bathroom first? I’m bursting ‘ere.”

The Sergeants exchanged a look, they do that a lot he’s found, before Watts nodded and gestured for Franks to escort him. The trip was only short, and luckily bunking with about 20 other men during the war had removed any uncomfortableness about nudity since Franks held the door open to the stall and watched him.

They came back quickly, the cup was still hot and Watts was reading through his notes.

Peter sat back into what had been his chair over the past few hours, while Franks took a seat next to Watts.

“Comfortable now?” Watts asked, not looking up from what he was reading.

“Me bladder feels good. I wouldn’t mind a cushion, though.”

Neither Sergeant reacted to his joke, but Peter still smiled to himself.

Watts took a moment longer, before he finally looked up to the man sitting across the table. “I apologise for keeping you waiting for so long Mr. Newkirk, but we had to contact Captain Pierce to try and corroborate the new information you gave us, but he was out performing his duties for most of the day today.”

‘Driving the General around’ Peter guessed in his head, he had no doubt the George would’ve been here the whole time if he could be.

Watts leaned forward, linking his hands on top of his notes, “Captain Pierce seemed quite distressed when he told him you had confessed to assaulting him. He says that isn’t what happened at all.” Watts stared at him intensely, “you aren’t lying to us are you Mr. Newkirk?”

Peter almost felt bad for the Sergeant interrogating him; they obviously had no idea who he was, what he did, that he looked the Luftwaffe, the SS, senior Nazi personal, and traitors in the eye every day for years and convinced them of lies, everything is fine, there are no sabotage efforts being performed from inside the camp, there are no tunnels, there is no secret organisation running under their noses. These Sergeants were child’s play; unless the decided to start pulling his fingernails out, there was very little chance that he would be caught in his lie.

“‘E probably is in shock; ‘e’s grabbed me like that before and I didn’t hit ‘im.”

“And why did you do it this time?” Watts pressed.

“‘E left me in the middle of our date, no word, no nothin’, just left.” Peter crossed his arms angrily. “I think I’m allowed ta be a bit angry ‘bout it”

Watts nodded along while Franks stayed as impassive as always.

“So ‘e’s followin’ me, tryin’ explain ‘imself, and I just wanna go home. So when ‘e grabs me, I belt ‘im and leave. The tosser has been askin’ for it since the first time I met ‘im.”

Watts leans back, “so is this an official confession?”

“Yeah mate.”

“Do you know that assaulting Military personnel, especially foreign ones, carries a penalty of jail time?”

Peter clenched his jaw and nodded; he was hoping he wouldn’t be locked up if he confessed, but if that’s what he had to do.

Watts sighed and got up, with Franks doing the same, “very well, we will draft up a confession for you to sign and then we will schedule a hearing to find out what your sentence will be.” They turned to leave, but Watts stopped with a hand on the door handle, “do you require anything? I don’t know how long we’ll be.”

“Some lunch would be appreciated, guv.”

Watts nodded and they left, closing the door gently behind them.

Peter sighed and slumped back into his seat, taking the teacup in front of him and have a sip of the lukewarm brew.

A guard he didn’t recognise came in a few moments later and placed a sandwich in front of him. He looked at it in astonishment and hurriedly shouted a ‘thank you’ to the guard who was already halfway out the door.

He took a bite and felt like he was in heaven; it had been so long since he has had real bread, the lines for it at his local bakery were always so long, and the ingredients for it frequently ran low in the poorer areas, all that can be spared being sent to London’s elite, and he supposes, military barracks probably count as the elite.

It was gone before he really had time to register what was on it, but for the first time in a long time, he felt satisfied with the lunch he just had, and he was also in a room that was decently warm; if it weren’t for the boredom and the possibility of being put in jail for a few years, he would say that he was having a good day.

Slumping even further, he decided that now was as good a time as any to maybe catch up on the sleep that had been evading him for the past few nights.


	8. Chapter 8

It was loud voices just outside the door to his room that startled Peter out of his little nap. It felt like he had only just gotten to sleep, and the nap hadn’t done anything for his tiredness, just given him a headache to put up with.

He rubbed his head wearily, and then realised that he should probably be trying to listen in on what was being said. He was going to get up and move closer, but the people must’ve been right next to the door, so he could hear them pretty clearly.

There was a loud person with an American accent demanding that he be allowed to enter, to see ‘who had the stones to attack an American soldier’. Watts was there, and presumably Franks as well, trying to hush the man, and tell him that he couldn’t go into the room before they got his confession. George was there, he was pleading with Watts to let Peter go, that he wasn’t the one who hurt him, but Watts wasn’t paying him any attention. 

If George was there, then the other American must be the General who was a war hero; he must’ve been very angry when the Captain showed up for work that day with a swollen nose.

Peter had to smile at the thought.

The voices moved away. They must’ve been able to distract the General for the meantime, but Peter knew he’d be back soon enough; Generals are usually too high on their own sense of self importance to care about potentially ruining a case. 

Sure enough, Peter judged it to be no more than an hour later when the door burst open and arguing voices entered. Peter was resting with his arms cushioning his head on the table, the door opening so suddenly started him, but he refused to show it and didn’t look up immediately; it was a common tactic with self-important Generals, catch someone off guard and then you will dominate the interaction. By the sounds of it, he brought the whole group from before in with him, it was already a small room, and it suddenly felt overcrowded.

“So this is the man who thought punching an American officer was a good idea,” the man, presumably the General said calmly, as if this were just going to be a normal conversation. 

“Maybe you Yanks should strutting ‘round like ya own the place, then less people would feel the need to.” He snarked back, knowing that his voice was muffled by his arms.

Someone shuffled in their spot at the door, and Peter peeked through his arms to spot George, all dressed up in his ‘spiffy’ uniform, looking impeccable, except for his two black eyes and broken nose; his whole face was swollen and purple. Peter took one look at him and straightened up to laugh, throwing his head back and wrapping his arms around his middle. He was in hysterics, it was the funniest thing he’d ever seen, he couldn’t stop laughing even if he wanted to.

He thought he heard a gasp, but that could’ve been himself gasping for breath at between laughs. The best part was how angry George was obviously getting about it, fists clenching by his sides, and standing up straighter as if he were standing his ground.

“Settle down now Mr. Newkirk,” Watts scolded him, “this is hardly a laughing matter.”

He wanted to keep laughing, but he forced himself to calm down, “I disagree mate,” he giggles, wiping a tear from his eye, “that is the funniest thing I’ve seen in years!” He closed his eyes to block out the image and took a breath, he should try and be a little bit serious here.

“Newkirk?” The General whispered, almost to himself but it was clearly heard in the sudden quiet of the room.

Peter opened his eyes to look at the man addressing him, and it felt like the floor had dropped out from under him; Hogan, it could be no one else, it was the same deep brown eyes, albeit with more lines around them, it was the black hair that was now graying at the temples, it was the nose, the chin, those broad shoulders that he knew so well, but they now carried the weight of 5 stars on them.

“Hogan?” He whispered back, eyes transfixed on the man in front of him.  
They moved as one, Peter stood up as Hogan moved around the table, the two Sergeants and George tensed as the whole movement happened so suddenly, but the two lost friends didn’t care as they met for a fierce hug, squeezing each other tightly as if trying to merge together.

Peter poured all of his thoughts and feelings from the past decade into the hug, the sense of abandonment, the loneliness and the desperation after he was left with nothing after so long protecting his country from behind enemy lines, only to kicked out of the air force and told to never contact them again. He rests his head on the shoulder in front of him, ignoring the stiff collar poking him, and felt tears coming, happy tears, and he didn’t even try to stop them from falling.

Eventually they both pulled back, and Peter was glad to see tears in the other man’s eyes as well. They inspected each other carefully, grabbing hands, faces, shoulders, anything to feel the differences that a decade has given them. 

Soon they were just left to stare in each other’s eyes, consumed completely by each other, it was only when someone coughed uncomfortably that they remembered that there were three other men in the room. They both turned to face their audience, Watts and Franks were trying to look professional, and George looked devastated at the turn of events.

Hogan cleared his throat, “the charges against this man shall be dropped.” He stated, looking at the two Sergeant but still holding onto Peter’s bicep like it was his life support.

“But, sir-” Watts stuttered.

“This man is a war hero, no crime was committed here. Do you understand?” He says sternly.

Watts looks like he wants to argue more, and Franks actually looks like he is going to speak, but in the end they both nodded.

“Now,” Hogan finally lets go of Peter’s arm, and he does the same, “please escort us out of this place, I will have a word with your superiors about how good a job you’ve done today.” 

Franks, who had kept up an aura of authority the entire time scampered away like a puppy to do what Hogan said, while Watts gestured for them to follow him and left the room.

Hogan offered Peter the crook of his arm with a grin, and Peter smiled back and rested his hand in the bend, dimly aware that George was following behind them, but honestly not caring at that moment.

They were taken out the back way of the station, stopping only briefly to get the name of Watt’s superior officer, before they found themselves on the street.

Peter suddenly felt nervous, standing there, still holding onto his commanding officer, his leader, his mate, his lover. But he was only those things in war time, how much had he changed? His looks had obviously aged, but he still made Peter’s heart flutter, but what if he is married now, with a kid? What if he is just happy to see his friend and will soon head back to America without a backwards glance? What if peacetime life had changed him as much as it had Peter?

Hogan was apparently having no such thoughts, turning to George who stood quietly near them, staring.

“Peter and I require a ride back to my hotel room now. You, Captain Pierce, are going to then drive my car back to the barracks and tell them that I will be needing a new driver for the rest of the time I am here.”

George went pale, “but sir, I am required to escort you during your entire time here, those are my orders.”

Hogan frowned at him, “I am your superior’s superior, so my orders trump his, got it?” He stared at him hard until he nodded, “so what you need to do now is go and bring the car around to this exact spot.” George didn’t move immediately, darting a stricken look at Peter for a second, “now soldier.”

They watched him speed walk away with all the dignity he had left until he was out of sight, and then Peter was pulled into a another hug.

“I finally found you,” Hogan mumbled into his neck.

“Rob...” Peter sighed, enjoying the closeness of the man he so admired.

“God Peter,” Hogan pulled away, “there is so much to talk about, so much to say. But it needs to be in private.” 

Peter nodded in agreement, “I can wait a bit longer.”

Hogan smiled widely at him, and they stood in silence on the street, waiting for George to bring the car. It wasn’t uncomfortable, they had been through too many things together to ever be awkward with one another; standing close to one another, their held hands hidden between their bodies.

The black car from the night before pulled up in front of them smoothly, and neither of them spared a word for the driver, both just sliding into the back seat, looking at each other, and laughing, overcome with giddiness at their unexpected situation.

“I can’t believe this!” Hogan laughed as he wiped a tear away from his eye. “I’ve spent years looking for you, and it turns out I just needed to keep an eye out for the one belting American soldiers in the nose!”

Peter smiled widely, “lord knows you deserved it at times mate, but this time it really wasn’t me, but I wasn’t gonna let a boy go to jail for protectin’ me.”

Hogan calmed down a bit and nodded at him, sparing a glance for the driver whose shoulders were very tense, but otherwise showed no other reaction.

He looked back at his old comrade and saw him watching him with something close to a twinkle in his eyes, and a soft, fond smile on his lips, and he reached across to grasp his hand again, this time taking note on how it felt; calloused and scarred, just like it was in the war, but there had been no time to let it heal and soften like Hogan’s hands had.

Peter chose to enjoy the warmth of the hand in his, it seemed like forever since he felt warm, and as he watched the other man that he adored. And as the car rolled down the street, Peter was happy.


	9. Chapter 9

The door to Hogan’s suite opened with a bang as the two men fell inside, laughing, and barely catching themselves from falling onto the ground.

Hogan had sent George off with a stern word, and they watched him pull away towards the barracks that was just down the road, before they linked arms and went inside, ignoring the stares that they got in the lobby and holding their heads high as if they were the most important people in the room. To each other, they were.

They made it to Hogan’s floor before they started laughing again, honestly, today Peter had laughed more than he had in years.

So they straightened themselves up and Hogan pulled him into the living room, gesturing for him to sit on the obnoxiously comfortable couch while he poured them both a scotch. Peter hadn’t had anything other than beer for a very long time, so even though it was only early in the afternoon, he shrugged and accepted the tumbler, taking a sip and only cringing a little bit at the burn.

Hogan grinned at him and took a much bigger drink, sitting down on the single chair across from Peter.

“Peter…”

“Rob-”

They both smiled at each other, and Peter gestured for Hogan to go first.

“Peter, oh God, it’s been so long. I’ve been looking for you since the end of the war, but there was nothing! No records of you leaving Germany, or returning to London, there was nothing to say that you had died, hell, your entire Military personnel file has vanished!” Hogan ran his hands through his hair. “At first I thought, maybe they were just hiding your identity to keep you safe from Nazi sympathisers, they did that with LeBeau. But then years passed, and there was still nothing from you, no letter to anyone in the team, and the Underground were still denying that you ever worked with us. It was driving me crazy!”

“Rob…”

“So I started coming to London to look for myself. The brass back home hated it, I’d just been made General and they wanted me take up a cushy office job, commanding troops while I’m completely safe. So I’ve been doing some low risk missions for the Underground to keep them happy, but still looking every chance I had.” Hogan chuckled, “who knew how big London was until you’re trying to find someone.”

Peter nodded, “yeah, and I ain’t the only Peter Newkirk ‘round here.”

Hogan agreed, “Yes, and I tried to find your sister, but there weren’t any listed as living here in London.”

“She got married and moved up to Birmingham with ‘im. ‘E’s a good bloke, we try and see ‘em for Christmas each year.” 

“That explains that, but nothing else had been. If anything, I’ve got a lot more questions now than I did 10 years ago.” Hogan sighed in frustration.

“I can answer some of it mate, prolly not all of it, but at least a little.”

Hogan got up and sat next to him on the couch, grasping both his hands, “tell me everything, I need to know what happened.”

Peter nodded and stared down at their entwined hands, “alright.”

He took a deep breath, and began. “Back at the camp, ya know, when we were liberated…”

Hogan nodded, “yeah, the last time I saw you.”

“Yeah, well when we were all separated to get on the trucks, I was with LeBeau, but he was grabbed last minute and put with the few other French POWs, so it was just me with the other Brits. I think we were all sent to different hospitals, only two trucks from the compound went to the one I went to, and I didn’t see any of you lads. Anyway, we had our check ups, and most of us were treated for hypothermia, or frostbite, and me and a few were said to be on the brink of starvation…”

“I’m not surprised, don’t think I didn’t see you tricking Carter into taking half of your food.”

Peter grinned, “‘E’s a growing boy, needs more food than us.”

“He really isn’t that much younger than you.”

Peter shook his head, “anyway, they was checkin’ me over, and then they found something else. There was a lot of whispers and pointing, and suddenly I’m bein’ moved on without any of the others. They get me across the channel less than a day later and sit me in front of these two Generals, one Yank and one Brit. They get all red in the face and start accusing me off fraternising with the enemy, saying it could even be treason, I still got no idea what’s goin’ on. In the end they dishonourably discharge me, they got no evidence ta charge me, they jus’ want me gone. I get kicked out the door, stripped of me rank, and get told to never contact them, or anyone from me team ever again or they’d lock me up.”

“This doesn’t make sense Peter,” Hogan says in frustration, “they can’t just do this to you for no reason!”

“I know luv,” Peter pats the other man’s hand, “I’m telling the story the way it happened. I’ll get to the end in a sec.” 

Hogan purses his lips and nods at him to continue.

“So I make me way home to Mavis, she was still in London at the time, and she’d been looking after me son while I was away, you remember me talking about ‘im?” Hogan nodded, “well she let’s us stay until I can make a bit of money to move out, which ends up being a bit hard.”

“And why is that?” Hogan asked getting impatient with the story telling.

“I was pregnant Rob,” Peter smiled widely, enjoy Hogan’s wide eyed look, and trying to hide his nervousness; if Hogan didn’t like the idea, then life would go on like it had before, even if Peter’s heart would remain broken for the rest of his life.

Hogan gently pulled his hands away from the other man, stood up, and went to the window to stare out onto the street. Peter allowed him the time to process it, after all, he’d had ten years to love his son, Davie, who had dark hair and dark eyes to match his father, who was way too smart and cunning for his own good, and who had this smirk that could easily be confused for his father’s.

Hogan hadn’t reacted negatively to it, which was a very positive sign, but then again, he was never really one to act without thinking; the longer it went on, however, the less likely there was going to be an explosion.

Finally Hogan took a deep breath and let his shoulders fall. He turned to face the man on his couch, who was sipping at his scotch.

“Are they- is it mine?” He asked carefully.

Peter felt a spark of irritation at the question, but he knew he was right to ask, “yes Rob.”

“But there was that time, near the end-”

“My son ain’t the product of no Kraut.” Peter said forcefully, standing up. “‘E’s yours, if ya look at ‘im it’d be like lookin’ in a mirror.”

“Really?” Hogan’s lips quirked in a tiny little grin, “He must be the best looking 10 year old in the world!”

Peter crossed his arms in a huff, “I mean the younger you, the one with less lines.”

Hogan walked closer and wrapped his arms around his waist and pulled him in close, “that’s mean. You could hurt my feelings with that kind of talk.”

Peter allowed himself to be pulled in, and he melted in the embrace, lifting his arms to rest of the other man’s shoulders, and he felt Hogan rest his head on his own shoulder.

They were never this cuddly during the war, there was never any time to savour the moment like this; secretly, both men wondered if the other didn’t really like basking in the afterglow, but they were finding out now that they were wrong, and they were loving it.

They soon sat back down on the couch, but they sat closer now, not willing to stop touching each other. “What’s his name, Peter?”

Peter smiled, “David. Smart as a whip, and twice as polite, ‘e’s a good lad.”

Hogan nodded and stared into the distance again, but he wrapped an arm around Peter’s shoulder, and they sat in the quiet for a while; Peter wanted to give him time to process everything, but he had some questions of his own that demanded answers.

“What about the other lads, Rob? LeBeau, Kinch, Carter?”

The arm around him tightened, “Carter got married in a year of being home, left the army and I think he’s on his fifth child now, the extra hands come in handy on his farm in Iowa.” he says with a chuckle.

Peter groaned and rolled his eyes at the joke, “and Kinch?”

“Still in the army, he’s a Captain now, working in intelligence. He’s got his own little lady at home, with two sons. He used to come with me to London to look for you occasionally, but he hated being away from his family for too long.”

Peter nodded, “I can understand.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Hogan agreed, “and LeBeau was still fighting for a long time after the war. He stayed with the Underground and travelled across Europe to hunt down the top brass who escaped, a lot of the trials you’ve probably read in the paper are because of him and his team.”

“Wow.” Peter was awed.

“Yeah. But he has finally settled down now, he had to; took some shrapnel from a landmine to the leg and damn near lost it. He had to stop, but now he runs a cafe that’s also a rest stop for other agents, and I’m legally not allowed to tell you where it is, but it’s on the Belgium/ France border.”

“Ha!” Peter laughs, “I’d love to go and see ‘im, but the blokes who kicked me out might not be very happy with that.”

Rob ‘hmmed’, “we’ll see who’s more unhappy between them and me when I find out who they are.”

“Don’t fuss luv,” Peter says, poking him in the side. “It was hard at the start, but I wouldn’t change me life now, not when I’m just gettin’ ya back.”

Hogan was frowning heavily, “okay, fine, I won’t do it for you. How about I do it for every other soldier they did it to, and every one they will do it to.”

Peter sighed tiredly, “fine, I can’t stand between you and ya sense of justice.” He paused and thought about it, “do ya really think there were others like me?”

Hogan shrugged, “I haven’t got a clue, but they could’ve had the same overreaction to something just as innocent, and maybe those other victims don’t have someone looking out for them, or looking for them, so I’m going to do it.”

“Okay,” Peter hummed, resting his head on Hogan’s shoulder and letting his eyes close. It had been a big day, and it was barely half over.

“Tired, Peter?” Hogan asked quietly.

Peter didn’t really respond before he was pulled up from the couch and guided into a spacious bedroom where the bed dominated.

Already drifting off as soon as he lay down, Peter feebly grabbed Hogan’s hand before it left his body. “Don’t let me sleep too long. Want ya to meet me boys tonight.”

He didn’t stay awake long enough to hear the response, but he knew it would’ve been an affirmative.


	10. Chapter 10

When he woke from probably the bed sleep he’d ever had, it was to silence. He wasn’t used to waking up without the sounds from the busy street outside, or to his boys getting ready for the day, and when he slowly took in the room he was in, and remembered early that day, he wondered where Hogan was.

Stretching his arms out as widely as he could and marvelling at the fact that his hand wasn’t hitting a wall and his feet weren’t hanging off the bed, he decided to get up; he wanted to get home before his neighbour had the chance to tell his sons the little white lie he left her with. He also wanted to see if they had enough food for four people, no wait, five, William will probably hang around tonight as well. He should probably also find out if he still has his job at the tailor’s shop; he was already on thin ice with the owner, and once he heard that Peter didn’t come into work because he was arrested, well, that would be the end of that. Bugger.

After the blissful previous few hours, reality was coming in pretty heavy to tear him down again. Whatever future he allowed himself to dream up would not be coming true; Hogan was an American General, he had a life back in the US, and even if he didn’t have a family waiting for him like Peter feared he did, that doesn’t mean he was going to stay in London. 

He went to the bathroom with these bad thoughts following him and splashed water on his face. With a sigh he gripped the sink tightly and let his head hang heavy, he didn’t want to be thinking like this, he wanted to get swept up in the happiness that he was feeling only a few hours ago, but he couldn’t; the last 10 years taught him that every bit of good comes with a bit of bad. Shaking his head he looked into the mirror to try and muster up a convincing smile; he would enjoy the remaining time he had with Hogan, he had to.

Apparently his mental preparations were unneeded, because as he entered the living room, he found no Hogan, only a note:

‘Peter,

I had an urgent call from the American Military barracks while you slept. Apparently they don’t like it when you fire people from their job without approval. Therefore I’m going over there to remind them how the chain of command works, and maybe find out who the American General who interrogated you was.

I hope it doesn’t take too long, but military red tape can take a while to cut. I want you to stay, but I know you want to get home to your family, it might be a good idea to introduce them to the idea of me before I darken their doorstep.

Leave your address on the back of this note, as well as any other way to contact you. Use the phone to call reception, there is a car waiting for you to take you anywhere you need to go. Perhaps we can meet for dinner tomorrow night?

Love,

Robert.’

Bloody hell, all his previous worries turned to goo inside him when he read ‘love, Robert’.

But Hogan made a lot of sense. Both his sons knew vaguely who their fathers were, he never kept that from them, but they were both under the impression that they would probably never meet them; in Johnny’s case, that was almost certainly true, and until today, Peter would’ve said the same about Davie’s. He really hoped that this didn’t mean Johnny’s old man was waiting around the corner for a reunion.

He wasn’t sure how Davie would take the information, he was a pretty carefree kid most of the time, and happy. He would love another parent to pay attention to him, but it would hurt him down to the core when Hogan would eventually have to leave.

Johnny would be another story about this whole situation, but he was a practical man, and once everything is explained, he will still be cold, that is just who he is, but he would put up with it for his and Davie’s sake.

Before leaving, however, he was going to take the longest and hottest shower that he could, just because he could.

\----

He ended up getting home soon after 5.30pm. He walked in to see Johnny and Will sitting at the table each with a cup of tea, and Davie making noises in the boy’s bedroom, probably getting changed. He was greeted with a raised eyebrow from Johnny and a polite nod from Will.

“Thought ya was staying at the pub tonight?” Johnny asked.

“Inna sec Johnny, I need ta talk ta all you boys, and I need a cuppa as well.”

Davie, who had just come out of his room, went to the kettle to make tea for his father, and handed it to him before sitting with the rest of his family at the table.

“Thanks luv,” Peter smiled, “now, lemme tell ya ‘bout me day…”

And he did, he told them everything, being arrested, expecting to spend years behind bars, but being pardoned at the last minute by a long lost friend.

The older boys, who had been looking ashamed for most of his story, shared a look. “An American soldier from your old war days?” Johnny questioned idly.

Peter allowed himself a smile, “yeah, what’re the odds right?”

“Is it, that, soldier?”

“Yeah Johnny, it was Hogan.” Peter huffed. He then turned to his youngest child, who had been quiet for most of the story. “Davie?”

“Yeah Da?”

“The man who saved me from prison today, I served under ‘im in the war. I’ve told you a bit ‘bout ‘im, but I don’t think I ever said ‘is name. I think I didn’t want ya ta look for ‘im in vain.”

“Da?”

“Hogan’s ya father, Davie, ya Papa. One of the best men I’ve ever met. ‘E’s been lookin’ for me all this time, and ‘e never knew ‘bout ya, but ‘e wants ta meet ya, only if ya want to meet ‘im too.”

His normally chatty son only nodded and looked down at his clasped hands that were resting on the table. Johnny put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it for comfort, and then turned to their Da, “So what’s ‘is story then?”

“Got promoted to a General and used the new power ta look for me. They destroyed me records after they booted me out, so the best ‘e could do was wander London shouting me name for the past 10 years.”

“Who knew it would take that wanker getting ‘is just desserts ta bring ya together.” Johnny joked.

Peter allowed himself to laugh, “yeah, who’da thought?” Then he turned serious, “but don’t do it again. Not everyone from me past is a good person, and if it takes punching wankers to bring them out, we should all stop now.”

Everyone agreed with a smile, and the Davie spoke up, “when do we get ta meet ‘im?”

Peter looked at him for a second, “we was thinkin’ tomorrow night for dinner, but only if ya want it that soon.”

Davie looked down at his hands again, but then looked up with a determined expression. “Yeah, I think I do wanna meet ‘im.” Then he started to look uncertain, “what if ‘e don’t like me?”

Peter’s heart broke, “aw Davie…” And Johnny was quick to pull him into a hug. “If ‘e don’t like ya we don’t like ‘im!” His eldest declares.

Peter reached across the table for Davie’s hand, “hey,” he says gently when the boy looks at him. “When I first met Rob, I was insubordinate. I got in trouble plenty of times with me superiors for bein’ rude, talkin’ back, and I even socked one right in the eye once, just like ol’ Will ‘ere.” He smiles at Will, who blushes in response.

“When I met Hogan, it was a month after ‘e came because I was in the cooler, me superior at the time told Klink I stole ‘is watch, which ‘e put down as a bet on cards. So I see this new Colonel talkin’ ta the old one and I think, great, another poncy bastard. So I act up, get punished more, but ‘e always comes back ta talk ta me, wants reasons, wants order, but without asserting ‘imself. I thought ‘e was nuts.” Peter laughs. “But ‘e backs me up when I get falsely accused, earns me trust, and ‘e never let me down.”

He squeezes his son’s hand again. “What I’m tryin’ say Davie, is that if Rob can see the good in me, even when I was actin’ like a criminal, ‘e is gonna love you, because you ain’t nothin’ but good.” 

Davie nods, his eyes shining with tears.

Peter ushers all of his boys to stand up, and encircles them in his arms, squeezing them as tightly as he could and feeling them return the gesture.

“Boys,” he mumbles into their tight circle, “‘e’s gonna love you, all of you. I promise.”

He feels them all nod, and they all stand like that for a long while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've read so many awesome origin stories about Hogan and Newkirk's first meeting. I think I might've been mixing two of them up, but I decided to put a little reference in there.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm super sorry this has taken so long! I had a huge reserve of chapters to release, but they don't last very long when you update once a week.
> 
> Also life.
> 
> Life amirit?

In the light of the morning, everyone was feeling a lot lighter. At least, they were until the boys found out that he didn’t have his main job anymore.

“Da!” Davie exclaimed worriedly, as Johnny was trying to hand his weekly earnings to his father, who was refusing to take it.

“Boys, don’t fuss!” Peter says, annoyed, “ya way too young ta be worryin’ ‘bout me bills. I still ‘ave the pub, and they’d been wantin’ me to take an extra day or two.” He smiled at them both, “things might be a little tight for a while, but we ain’t gonna be homeless, or starvin’, I promise ya that. Now go get ready for ya day, I have ta get to the pub before they open for lunch.”

The boys left soon after, grumbling all the way out the door, and Peter pulled Will aside and told him to come again tonight to meet Hogan.

“I know ya were thinkin’ ‘bout joining up. Ya ain’t gonna meet a finer soldier than ol’ Rob.” Will nodded with a small smile, promising in his own way to be there.

In the sudden silence of the house, he let his shoulders slump and the smile fall from his face. It was true that the pub had asked him to work more days, but that was months ago, and they’d since hired a young bloke to cover those shifts. He’d have to beg to get more now, something he refused to do as a younger man, but the years had beaten that pride out of him.

He took his time cleaning up the morning dishes, not inclined to rush anything, and mentally planned out his day. After the pub he’d have to go to the butcher to get some meat, buying enough for five people would lighten his wallet, but he would hopefully have enough afterwards to buy some vegetables, or at least some potatoes to actually make this a meal fit for a guest. Should he get the cheapest cuts so he can afford some beer as well? Probably not, Hogan seemed to like the finer liquors, and some cheap beer is no comparison.

Okay, that’s good, he has a plan, now he just has to get dressed and begin the day. Pulling on his nicest clothes, and secretly hoping that he doesn’t get them too smelly so he can wear them for dinner tonight, he heads out the door and down the road to the pub

It’s only just before 9am, but the owner, Trevor, lives above it and is known to leave the place a mess overnight and clean it up early the next day just so he can go to bed. That’s what he was doing as Peter tentatively pushed open the door, straightening up to yell at whoever was coming inside, but instead beckoning Peter closer and handing him a broom.

They spoke as they cleaned, Peter briefly running down the past few days to Trevor’s quiet form. He got a sympathetic ear and a sorrowful shake of his head for his efforts, there just wasn’t anymore shifts to give, not unless the pub seriously increased its patronship.

“You’ll be the first to know if anything changes, mate.” Trevor tells him as he sends him out the door with a pat on the back.

Peter nodded, he understood, but bloody hell didn’t it hurt.

He left the pub and made his way over to the butcher a few blocks away. He had the urge to hang his head, but he needed to keep an eye out for any ‘help wanted’ signs in the windows he was passing. He had been lucky with the tailoring job, the old owner was a friend of Mavis’ husband, and when the new owner came around he just decided to keep the old staff, even though he never seemed to like Peter for some reason.

Unfortunately, the shops he passed didn’t seem to need any extra help, it was similar to just after the war where there were a lot of returning soldiers and not enough jobs for them all. Well, hopefully it wasn’t going to be that hard to find a job, but it was looking like today was not going to be the day he got one.

A bright spot in this so far dreary day, the butcher had some lamb trotters for cheap, so he had enough get some carrots and potatoes, enough to make up a stew for dinner. He even had enough for a morning paper, hopefully the classifieds had some good news for him. 

Feeling at least a little bit happier, he went to return home and get started on dinner.

\-------------------

Absorbed in the paper, he was startled when the door banged open and Johnny and Will loudly came inside, both of them seemingly forgetting that Peter was home. Both of them paused at if caught in the act when they saw him sitting at the kitchen table, but then they remembered what had happened and they moved into the house much more quietly.

“Alright lads?” Peter asked with his eyebrow raised.

“Alright, Da.” Johnny answered, going over to the stove to see what was cooking. “Whatchat?” He asked peering in and taking a deep whiff.

“Stew, got some trotters for cheap.”

“Brilliant,” Johnny grinned for a moment, which fell from his face when he saw the paper in front of his father. “Any jobs?”

Peter closed the paper with a sigh, “ain’t nothin’ for ya ta bother about Johnny. Somethin’ will come along, trust ya old pop, okay?”

Johnny’s face twisted, but he nodded.

“Now go clean up boys, then clean the bathroom. Do it now before Davie comes home, ya know ‘e’ll be too excited to be any help.”

The boys grumbled off to do their chores, and Peter went to the stew to see how it was going, and to put the kettle on for some afternoon tea. He glanced around the kitchen and felt a spark of embarrassment; after making up the stew, he had spent quite a bit of time cleaning the whole apartment, but to his critical eye, it didn’t look like it made any difference. Far from the 5 star hotel where he spent hours yesterday, his apartment was dirty from constant use, and even though his military training refused to let him leave the place messy, something that he endeavoured to teach the boys, stains and mold can’t just disappear with an afternoon of vinegar and elbow grease. The kitchen chairs were all mismatched because they were all donations from neighbours, the table was from his sister, the same as the couch in the sitting room because she couldn’t take them when she moved.

After cleaning, he had moved to his bedroom to pick out some nicer clothes to wear, it really struck him that he didn’t have anything that hadn’t been mended in some way. The only time he got new clothing was if the tailoring shop let him take from the clothes that had never been picked up, and even that was only to keep up appearances; you can hardly have a tailor working for you that wears shabby clothes. Clothes money had to be saved for the boys, who were constantly growing and being rowdy and needed something new at least every few months.

Slightly ashamed, he had gone in the boys’ room and picked out some clothes for them to wear, and took a pair of Johnny’s trousers for himself, he was pretty sure he had a least a semi nice shirt to pair it with.

He didn’t want to get so hung up on appearances, but he had to at least pretend that he had his life together in front of Hogan, it was a matter of pride, and a desire to not make Hogan pity him. 

He could hear both boys banging around in the bathroom, which really wasn’t big enough for both of them to be in there trying to clean, but at least that’ll keep them occupied for a while so they didn’t mess up the rest of the house.

Peter was stirring the stew when Davie came home, bursting through the door with a bounce and giving his father a hug when he saw him, then running into the bathroom and pushing the other two out, shouting that he was washing up before slamming the door. Johnny turned to his Da who watched in amusement, “we wasn’t done yet.”

Peter laughed, “I told ya to do it before ‘e got home, now you’ll ‘ave a bigger mess ta clean.”

Johnny groaned and went to sit in the living room to wait, Will following behind him. “You clean the rest of the house, Da?”

Peter had gone back to stirring the stew, “I did, so you're in for a world of ‘urt if ya mess it up.” 

“Yessir,” Johnny threw him a sloppy salute that would definitely not be accepted in the army, then turned to discuss something quietly with Will.

“Dinner's at six, so I expect you both dressed and ready by five, I’ve put good clothes on the bed for ya both.” Peter told them, he didn’t get a response, but he knew that they had heard him.

The stew was cooking nicely, there was no reason that he needed to be standing over it right now, but it was more for lack of anything else to do, and a desire not to show how nervous he was in front of the boys. If they saw it, they might mistake it for something else, and they might get defensive, especially after the past few days they’ve had. 

Forcing himself away from the pot, he went back to the kitchen table to reread the classifieds section, maybe he could be a cook, after watching LeBeau for years he is pretty sure he had the basics of it, and none of his boys had ever gotten sick due to anything he’d made.

Davie eventually came out of the bathroom and fretted about what to wear while Johnny grumped about how long he took and how both he and Will needed to clean up and also clean the bathroom.

Ignoring the older boys, Peter lead Davie into the shared room and showed him the clothes that he had laid out for him this morning, but his youngest did not agree on the shirt he’d picked. This turned into half an hour of tossing up between two of his nicer shirts, and his favourite shirt, which he fought hard for, but in the end, agreed that a shirt without holes would make a better impression on his father. 

Afterwards the boys started to get a bit rowdy in their excitement and nervousness, and suddenly the afternoon flew by a lot quicker with having to almost police them into not ruining the house and not rumpling each other’s clothes when it finally came time to get ready.

“Should we stand at attention by the door when he knocks?” Johnny asked sarcastically, Peter gave him a look, but Davie was nearly vibrating at the thought.

“We should salute him!” Davie exclaimed excitedly. “He’s a war hero after all!”

Johnny raised an eyebrow at his brother, “Da’s a war ‘ero as well, and we don’t salute him.”

Davie pouted and crossed his arms, “Da doesn’t like salutes, he likes hugs.”

Peter had to laugh, “That I do, boys,” he opened his arms wide, “come ‘ere boys, a big hug for good luck!”

The three young men all came in, arms going everywhere but the important this is that they were all holding each other, squeezing each other tight.

“No matter what boys, know that I love you all. You mean more ta me than the world.” Peter promised them in the cocoon of his arms, giving them one last squeeze as there was a knock at the door.

They all looked at each other for a moment, before Peter stepped forward to open the door.

It was Hogan, of course it wasn’t going to be anyone else, but Peter could admit that a lot of his nervousness definitely came from imagining that the man just plan wouldn’t turn up.

Hogan stood there with an almost sheepish smile on his face, a bouquet of flowers in his hand that he offered to Peter who took it with a laugh. He looked nice, a dinner jacket and some nice wool pants; it had been ten years, but it was strange to see him without a hat on, the greying edges of his hair stood out without one on, not that he didn’t look good like that.

The two long lost mates smiled at each other for a moment, before Hogan glanced around him to see the three curious faces staring at him.

“Okay, so one of you two older boys must be Johnny, and I’m guessing it’s you,” he gestures to Johnny, “since you have Peter’s eyes.” He looks at Will next, “that must make you William, the boy who will punch Sergeants in the face if you think they’re a threat.” Will looks away in embarrassment.

“Finally,” his eyes fall on Davie, “you must be Davie. Well, I am mighty glad to meet you, son.” Davie is in tears at this point, completely overwhelmed to meet his father. He takes one step forward, and then another to move around his Da who is still holding the door.

Peter gives him a little nudge, “go on then,” and Davie jumps at his father, clinging tight to the man as he wets the man’s jacket with his tears. Hogan himself is smiling down at him with misty eyes. 

Peter feels his oldest two shift behind him, but none of them want to interrupt the moment because it wasn’t about them at that second, it was about the two people in front of them.


	12. Chapter 12

Dinner had long passed when Peter and Hogan stood outside sharing a cigar between them. The boys had gone to bed a while ago, mostly forced to because it was only Thursday, they still had a full day of work and school to get through before they could relax.

The two adults mostly stood in silence, enjoying the atmosphere and easy camaraderie between them. Neither of them were really in a rush to see it end.

“Beautiful family.” Hogan said quietly through an exhale of smoke, whispering mostly so they didn’t disturb the neighbours.

“They are, aren’t they. I made them meself.” Peter replied cheekily.

Hogan laughed, “hey! I helped a little bit with the last one!”

“That you did, mate.” Peter agreed and took back the stub to inhale. 

Hogan turned to face him with his whole body. “Did tonight go well?” He asked, “David seemed to like me, and William looked pretty interested in what I had to say, but John just stared, one word answers as well.”

Peter laughed, “obviously you ‘aven’t been around many teenagers!” He smiled at his partner, “tonight went great, Davie won’t be able to talk about anything but ya for weeks to come I bet. And Will ‘as been thinkin’ ‘bout joinin’ up for a while now, once ‘e warms up ta ya ‘e’ll be askin’ ya endless questions!”

“As for Johnny,” he paused, “Well, ‘e’s just protective. Bit of a cynical bastard if I’m ‘onest, love.” Peter laughs. “I raised me boys on tales of ya and the lads, ya were probably larger than life ta them. Now ya here, and ya wanna get ta know ya son, and all ‘e probably thinks is ‘what’s the catch?’”

“‘E probably remembers ‘ow the war changed everythin’, ‘is school, ‘is friends, me. Ya probably too perfect at the moment, and ‘e doesn’t want us ta get hurt if ya have a dark hidden secret.”

Hogan reached for the cigar and inhaled, holding it in, and then letting it out slowly, like a sigh. He was quiet for a moment, so Peter just let him digest what he’d said.

He passed the stub back, and when Peter grabbed it Hogan didn’t let go, making Peter meet his eyes that were staring intensely at him. “Do you think I’ll hurt you or the boys?”

Peter started shaking his head immediately, “no, never, I trust ya, I always have.” He smiles a bit ruefully. “Maybe that’s stupid, but ya were me Colonel, without ya ol’ Klink woulda left me ta rot in the cooler the whole war. Ya pushed me ta make an actual difference in the war, and ya kept me alive so I could see me son again, and so I could have another.”

“It’s been ten years, love, maybe ya’ve changed, but ta me, ya still the man who swept into the stalag like an avenging angel, and then saved me like ya were my guardian angel.”

“Peter…” Hogan breathed.

“I love ya, Rob. I think I have ever since I first saw ya.” 

There was no immediate reaction from Hogan, Peter felt his face heat up in the cool air and hastily handed back the cigar.

“I know it’s been a long time, ya probably got a family back in the states waitin’ for ya. Now ya found me so ya don’t hafta worry ‘bout me no more, I got me kids, I’m ‘appy.” He smiled a fragile little smile at the man he admired, who was still staring with wide eyes.

“I gotta get ta bed, early morning and all that.” He quickly stepped up the steps to the house, but paused, “if ya can, Davie would love ta spend the day with ya, come over Saturday.” Hogan still hadn’t responded, “please?” He pleaded, which got a small nod.

“Goodnight Rob.”

“Goodnight Peter,” he heard follow him in through the door. 

He closed and locked it with a sigh and lent against it for a moment before walking into the kitchen and peering into the dark living room. “Go ta bed boys,” He instructed the darkness, and watched as all three of them slunk out and shuffled off to their room.

Preferring to keep his mind busy than lie awake a regret everything, Peter got to work on the dishes, trying to be quiet while also trying to silence his racing thoughts. Affection was there, of course it was, nobody looks for their comrade in arms for ten years when they only think of them as an acquaintance, the love of a brother is just as powerful as the love between lovers. Peter knew what he felt, and he hadn’t been lying when he said he’d love Hogan from the start, sure, at first it was purely based on his looks, but with every gesture, every idea and plan, Peter fell deeper everyday. The day they first started sleeping together was a dream come true for him, because he had already loved the man for years before that.

But that doesn’t mean that Hogan ever felt the same. The man thrived on the chase, on pulling the double crosses, thinking three steps ahead of the enemy, stabbing someone in the back before they could stab his. He seduced women ruthlessly, never giving all of himself away to them and completely focused on his goals; his flirting with Hilde was playful, she was on their side after all, but had she ever turned them in then Hogan would’ve had no problem in ending her life.

Maybe Hogan had seen a fickleness in Peter, the near constant urge to climb out of that stump to freedom, to London, and to his family, had to be beaten down every morning at the 5am wakeup call. Klink gloating about the London bombings made it almost unbearable to stay, despite the importance of their work. Maybe Hogan had seen the longing looks Peter gave him and figured that this was the best way to make him stay.

They never made promises to each other, never declared love, although it was on the tip of Peter’s tongue sometimes, he knew that he would have to watch Hogan flirt, and sometimes have to do it himself to get the job done. They kissed, but sometimes that was all the affection that they had time for in between one act of sabotage and another. It meant something, of course it did, they had adapted into a routine after a few years and got comfortable in it, hell he would be surprised if Kinch and LeBeau didn’t know about it, although he doubted Carter did because he never got any embarrassing questions. But just because it meant something doesn’t mean it meant the same to both of them; to Hogan it could’ve been stress relief, a bit of fun in their stressful lives, a sense of normalcy, hell, if Peter wanted to be unkind, maybe it was even just a way to control him, to use as leverage against him, or… no, Peter couldn’t believe that, it would have to come from Hogan’s own mouth for him to believe that Hogan thought of it that way.

He felt like a young girl trying to figure out if a boy liked her by scrutinising every detail of their interactions, but he couldn’t help it. He wasn’t outright rejected, he knows that, but there were still question marks floating around.

Mainly he hoped that he hadn’t scared the man off from coming back and getting to know his son.

“Da,” Johnny spoke wearily, interrupting his thoughts, from the door, “go to bed.”

Peter looked at him and then looked down at the sink, sometime during his racing thoughts he had finished cleaning the dishes and had just started staring into the murky water.

“Yeah, I’m coming.” And he did, turning off the lights, he stopped to give Johnny a kiss on the forehead, before heading to the bathroom to wash up.

He got to his room and he saw Davie spread out and snoring away, making him smile. He changed as quietly as he could and slide in carefully, trying not to jostle the bed too much. In the silence of the night he was worried that his thoughts would keep him awake like they used to in the barracks, but the overall stress of the day, especially for the night, was finally off his shoulders, and mental exhaustion pulled his eyelids closed before any thoughts had time to blossom.

\------------------------------

The boys went off the next day happily, chattering amongst themselves and being physically affectionate with Davie, who looked like he was walking on air.

Peter waved at them from the door and only let his shoulders drop once they were out of sight. He leaned against the door frame to watch the world for a moment, wondering what he was going to do today. The shops within walking distance had no need for a ex soldier without any of the skills they needed, so that meant he would have to look further afield; the docks might need and extra hand, and he knew for a fact that many soldiers came home and found work there, so he might be in for a spot.

He turned to go back inside when he spotted a bouquet of flowers on the doorstep of his neighbour’s house that he shared the steps with. That bird was always getting gifts from suitors. He smiled at it, and hoped this bloke treated her right, she was a good one.

Going back inside, he quickly cleaned the dishes and pulled on the nicer clothes he wore last night, he would try a few other places before heading to the docks; he didn’t really want to get involved in the rough and tumble of the boys over there, but he couldn’t let his boys continue to worry about money, so he would do what he has to.


End file.
